Book 2: 3rd World Products, Inc. Page 3

  Stephie said, “Four jets are inbound from southeast. They're going to have trouble catching up. Should I slow down for them?"

  "No, don't slow down. Take us to twelve hundred and do a roll or two to give them time to get within range. Hey, Stephie, think; what would Kathleen Turner do right now? What would she say if she could speak Spanish and talk to the guys in those jets?"

  As Stephanie took us into a high barrel roll, she said, “You'll hear English and they'll hear Spanish. You want me to improvise communications, too?"

  "Sure. Why not? They're already shooting at us."

  In her come-hither voice, Stephanie asked, “Cuban military aircraft, do you read me? This is not a hostile flight. Repeat, we are not hostile."

  Their reply was a command to identify ourselves.

  "We probably shouldn't do that,” I said.

  "Oh, I'm afraid we just couldn't possibly do that,” said Stephie, her husky voice oozing warmth as we reached the summit of the roll and started back down.

  The demand came again, more forcefully than before.

  "Ignore them,” I said.

  Stephie said, “Cuban military aircraft, I'm ignoring yooouuu."

  Linda giggled and said, “I don't think Ed meant for you to tell them that."

  "Well, he didn't say not to, did he? Now they sound upset, though."

  The demand to identify ourselves had been amended to "Identify yourselves or be shot down immediately."

  I said, “Nope. We're not gonna do it. Refuse them firmly."

  Stephanie replied in her sultriest voice, “You boys don't have what it takes to shoot me down, and you can take that any way you want. Here, I'll do another roll to give you boys a chance to catch up with me."

  Chapter Three

  Linda said, “Oooohh. They aren't gonna like that at all. Put them on the screen, Steph. This should be interesting. I'll bet they'll forget all their manners, now."

  The pilots gabbled hotly for a bit until someone ordered them to shut up and called the play, then they bore in toward us on afterburners, their weapons armed. One went high, one lagged back, and two tried to flank us at the bottom of our roll. The order to identify ourselves was repeated.

  "Opaque the canopy, Steph. Simulate the exterior view for us, then put on your eyes for the visitors."

  To Linda I said, “We'll see them clearly, but they'll see only what looks like a reflective dome with a pair of eyes painted on it."

  Linda asked, “Eyes? What eyes?"

  "Stephie surprised me once by using one of my website graphics; a pair of eyes. Anyway, she may want to wink at them."

  Linda gave me her 'doubtful sanity' look and watched the jets take their stations above, beside, and behind us. They were matching speed with us, but they wouldn't be able to do so for long before their fuel ran low. They'd have to decide whether to shoot or not and how to do it in the next couple of minutes.

  Stephie began edging over closer to the jet on our right. He took action to keep his distance, as ordered, but Stephie crowded him so quickly that—for a moment—it looked as if we could reach out and touch his wing. The guy was in a panic, yelling for the others to 'get the goddamned UFO off him'.

  The guy upstairs was evidently the commander. He told the left and right-hand guys to hold position to contain us and told the one behind us to take us with guns. Stephie destroyed the incoming rounds about halfway between us and the plane. They puffed into little balls of incandescence that disappeared into our turbulence.

  At least two of the pilots reported the flashes and the attempt's lack of effect at the same time in astonished tones. The guy on top then ordered the jets on either side to break off and the jet below to use a missile.

  "Stephie, climb up there and place yourself smack underneath that guy before the bottom jet gets lined up. Stick with him and let's see if he's so eager to shoot then."

  "Roger that, Captain."

  Within seconds we were so close to the top jet that I could see the scuffmarks on his fuselage where some repair tech's tool had slipped. Linda was a bit tense from the proximity. I put a hand on her shoulder and she almost jumped out of her skin.

  "Linda,” I said. “No problem. No danger. Just a game."

  If she relaxed in the slightest, it wasn't apparent to me. She continued staring up at the jet, her teeth clenched as tightly as her grip on her seat.

  One of the guys reported our new position and the order to fire a missile was rather quickly canceled. The jet above us jinked and tried half a dozen evasive maneuvers before straightening out. Someone out there asked what to do and the guy above us told him to shut the fuck up and let him think.

  "Steph, tell them that if we were hostile, we could have knocked them all down by now."

  Stephie relayed the message. There was no answer.

  "Bump his hull and get his attention, then say it again."

  Stephanie quickly eased up to within inches of the jet and used her field to bump him a few times, then repeated the message. To his credit, the pilot didn't veer away. He remained on course and only sidled left enough to see the flitter.

  "He's requesting instructions from the airfield,” said Steph. “He's been told to shoot us down at all costs. Instructions?"

  "It figures. Pinpoint the location of that transmission, Steph, and stop us as quickly as possible. Relay the following message to the jets in my voice, please, translated to Spanish: 'We're sorry, but we can't let you kill yourselves for some brass-hat asshole on the ground.' As soon as the jets are lined up where they can all see us, you'll take us at your best speed to within ten feet of wherever that order came from. I'll tell you when to move."

  "Yes, Ed."

  Yes, Ed? No cute patter? No ‘Aye, Captain'? Oh, well. Other things to think about.

  "Stephie, send this: 'Jets, stand off and do not fire. We're over a city.'"

  No reply. I told her to say it again. Still no reply.

  As we left the airspace above the city, Stephanie said, “He fired a missile. Two missiles. Now the others are firing. Eight missiles coming at us."

  "Blow the missiles at a safe range and hold this position."

  Stephie's invisible field lancets ranged outward and the missiles exploded long before they were anywhere near us.

  "They're firing again, Ed."

  "Same procedure. Blow them as soon as they're far enough from the jets."

  I heard the commander swear as the second volley of missiles blew. He gave the order to close in with guns and ram us if necessary. Well, at least he was finally getting the idea that we'd be a difficult target.

  The jets were coming at us in pairs; one pair attacking and the other pair orbiting to set up its own attack run, but from a slightly different angle. I decided that it was time to move before someone veered off and got labeled a coward for not going boom with his ship.

  "Stephie, it's time. Ten feet from the source. Best speed."

  To the pilots homing in on us, it must almost have seemed as if we'd disappeared. Steph went to max in the space of about two seconds and had us hovering beside a control tower seemingly within those same two seconds.

  Some guy in the tower with too much junk on his jacket was holding a microphone and staring at us like an openmouthed idiot. Three others were doing the same. One was running for a door.

  "You in there,” I said, “Call off those jets or I'll haul your ass out of there."

  When he didn't move or even close his mouth, I told Stephie to extend a field through the window and bring him outside with us. The big window shattered inward and the extended field seized him. He screeched and dropped the mike, then wet himself and began babbling and struggling.

  "Stephie, hold him in front of us ten feet away and turn us to face those jets. By the way, do you happen to know what rank he is?"

  As she turned us, she said, “He's a Colonel, Ed."

  The jets, which had been far enough away to be pinpoints in the sky, were fast becoming larger dots as they approac
hed.

  "Stephie, tell them this: 'Jets, I have your Colonel for a hood ornament. You'll be shooting through him if you shoot at us. Do you understand?'"

  Linda said, “This has gone too far, Ed. Why don't we just put him down and leave?"

  "It's all going on record here, Linda. Food for thought for their brass. They need to know their era has ended and it's time to rejoin the world. The only thing this 'Peoples’ Paradise' has to show for fifty years of Castro is crushing poverty. They can buy fancy killing machines, but their people are starving in rat-traps."

  "And how is this our problem? We had a revolution; so can they."

  "Too many of the best people die in revolutions, Linda, and too often the devious scum wind up in charge after one. You ought to know that; our agencies have caused or supported enough of them in the past fifty years."

  "We didn't. We weren't part of those operations."

  "Same outfit, different agenda. You were a company girl all the way. If they'd told you to crank up a revolution somewhere instead of yanking people out of the East, you'd have done it."

  "But not you?"

  "Not me. The same kinds of people were running the drug war. Anything for the cause. Too bad if we kill a few hundred thousand people in the process."

  The jet commander was calling the tower and getting no response. One of the guys still in the tower waded through the broken glass and grabbed the mike to tell him what had happened. The commander ordered his wingmen to orbit the field while he went in for a look. I guess nobody can fault the guy for courage.

  His jet streaked past us at fairly low altitude as he craned to see what was going on. The guy in the grip of Stephie's field waved both arms at him frantically.

  I said, “Jet commander, your Colonel doesn't appear to be very eager to die. What do you think about that? He was quick enough to order you to do it when he thought he was in no danger of sharing the experience with you. You've seen what we can do and you're probably getting low on fuel. It's time to think for yourself. Talk to me. How do you want to handle this?"

  "I have my orders."

  "That's how a dog thinks. Prove to me that you're an intelligent man and land your jets, then we'll put this man down and leave."

  "I cannot allow you to leave. You must land and surrender to the authorities."

  "You know that won't happen. You can't shoot us down, and there's no point in killing yourselves by trying to kill us."

  "Nevertheless, those are my orders. I must try."

  "What about your Colonel, here?"

  "He will die with honor in service to his country. Whether he wishes to or not."

  I looked at Linda. “Any ideas?"

  She looked back and shook her head as if to ask, 'How the hell should I know?'

  "I'll put your brasshole down gently enough not to break him, jet commander. You and your friends will all meet me in the sky at ten thousand feet. Be ready to eject."

  "Ten thousand,” agreed the commander. “Do not keep us waiting."

  Linda asked, “What are you going to do, Ed?"

  "Stephie,” I asked, “Will your fields stifle and kill a jet engine?"

  "Yes, Ed."

  "Then what we're going to do is lead them out beyond the harbor, fly up behind each jet in turn, and shove a field up his tailpipe while telling him to eject."

  Linda asked, “Why the hell don't we just leave as fast as we came down here? Wouldn't that be just as impressive to these guys?"

  "No. They'd just write the whole thing off as a UFO sighting and bury it. This way there'll be too many witnesses and four planes down as evidence. If they think that every flitter can do stuff like this, they'll be at the big table in a few months, begging to join. Stephie, put him down and take us to ten thousand, just outside the harbor, at twelve hundred. We'll wait there."

  "Yes, Ed."

  The Colonel's legs didn't work at all when his feet touched the ground. He collapsed, then tried to get to his feet. We left him staring up where we'd been. When we arrived at our skirmish point, we just hung there in the sky as the jets scurried to meet us from their orbits above the airfield. They came at us in pairs again.

  "Stephie, a change of plans. Let them shoot all they want and pick one to follow if they split around us. Get close and knock his tail off. Once that one ejects, go for one of the others while he's over the water. We don't want to drop a jet on the town."

  "Yes, Ed."

  "What's this 'Yes, Ed' stuff all of a sudden? Where's your personality, Steph?"

  "It will return at more casual moments, Ed. That persona requires interpretations and responses that could prove imprecise or incorrect during such exercises as these."

  I said, rather lamely, “Oh. Well, as long as she isn't gone for good."

  The jets came at us dead-on, their guns blasting, but again their bullets blossomed into bright little flashes before they came anywhere near us. The expected split didn't happen. Apparently the commander had realized that we were either incapable of shooting back or unwilling to do so.

  As the two jets blasted past us, our screen showed Stephie's blade-shaped fields smashing into the leading edges of their tails. Both jets veered upward and away, out of control, and each of the two pilots soon realized a need to leave his aircraft.

  "Stephie, send this: Jet commander, do we really have to do that again?"

  His answer was an attack run. Again, the guns. Again, the bullets being destroyed well away from us. This time the jets split left and right instead of streaking past us.

  Stephie pivoted to follow the jet on the left, caught up with it and positioned herself just to his rear on his starboard side, then sheared his tail off. The pilot, having seen what had happened to the others, wasted no time ejecting from his craft. His canopy bounced off our canopy field as it fell away, but the pilot was catapulted well clear.

  The commander had turned around and was making another run at us. He knew what would happen and broke away early, perhaps in hopes of remaining out of Stephie's reach, but that wasn't possible. She easily floated alongside him and reached for his tail.

  "Wait one, Steph. Park a few feet above his canopy for now. Pilot, how much fuel do you have remaining?"

  The commander's eyes got big as we moved into close proximity above his head, but he seemed relatively unshaken as he said, “That is my concern, not yours."

  "Uh, huh. Well, what if we just stay here for a while?"

  "That would be impossible. I am one of the best pilots in Cuba."

  "Ah, hah. I see. Well, don't try to eject until you can shake us off. It wouldn't be safe, you know."

  The jet below us jinked and banked and sped up and slowed down, and when that didn't work, the guy pulled the stick back into his lap for a steep climb, apparently assuming that we'd either be unable to stay in position or that he'd finally take us out of the sky by ramming us. That didn't work, either, but the aerobatics he performed undoubtedly impressed the hell out of some radar crews.

  Linda finally found her voice in the midst of all the maneuvering. She looked a little wall-eyed and green at the gills, but her brain seemed in working order.

  "Ed, has it occurred to you that more jets may be on the way? I don't want to spend the rest of the evening playing tag on a goddamned rollercoaster! Let's end this stupid game and get the hell out of here!"

  "We've been messing around above Cuba for an hour, Linda. If they intended to send more jets up, we'd know it by now. These guys were guinea pigs. Steph,” I asked, “Have you updated enough for the moment?"

  "I could complete my charts if we leave by flying lengthwise over the island."

  "Fine enough. How much fuel does he have left?"

  "Five minutes or less. I can't be more exact."

  "Well, Linda wants to leave, so we'll disable him and let him eject. Send this to him, please: Commander, you need to get one of these flitters."

  His reply was, “That is quite evident."

  "Would you say as much to y
our superiors? Would you encourage them to become involved in the flitter manufacturing project?"

  "Yes, I believe we should make every effort to acquire them."

  "We're going to move aside, now. Do we have to disable your plane, or will you leave us and return to the airfield?"

  "That I cannot do. I have my orders."

  Linda's voice rose an octave above normal as she said, “Quit screwing around, tear his goddamned tail off, and let's get the hell out of here, okay?!"

  The commander said, “If you don't mind my saying so, that woman sounds like a lot of trouble. Your pilot has a much nicer voice."

  Linda stared openmouthed at the jet beside us for a moment, then gave him the finger with both hands, forgetting that he couldn't see her gesture.

  "Fuck you!” she screamed at him, “Send him that, Stephie! Fuck ... You!"

  Then she whipped back around to glare at me.

  I said, “You heard? I'm sure you'll understand that I can't agree with you at the moment. She's my employer, and flying makes her tense. You know how it is?"

  The jet's engine suddenly cut off and the pilot did something before replying.

  "Ah. Yes. I understand, indeed. It seems that I am out of fuel, so I should probably eject soon."

  "Probably so. Goodbye, Commander."

  "Goodbye. Be careful around that woman. She sounds like a mean one."

  "I will, and thanks for your concern. Stephie, let's make your charting run and head back. Stay at nine hundred while we're over Cuba. Altitude is your choice."

  As Stephanie veered to her new course, Linda was glaring at me with a narrow gaze. “You will, and thanks for your concern? Did I hear you right?"

  I nodded and reached in the cooler for a couple of new beers as I watched the jet commander eject behind us.

  "Sure,” I said, handing Linda a beer, “I've always known you were a mean one."

  She viciously twisted the cap off, her eyes never leaving mine.

  "You did, huh?"

  "Yup. Since you've always been the one who sent me on the really odd and dangerous assignments, I just figured you were hiding it from me so I'd keep you in my will. You'll never get my insurance money, though."